


the day when I rose at dawn

by radialarch



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Fisting, HYDRA Made Them Do It, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 09:00:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3523355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radialarch/pseuds/radialarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky tries to be the Winter Soldier. Then he doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the day when I rose at dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Um. Well. Happy birthday, Bucky? :D
> 
> Title from Whitman.
> 
> (This does not fill a specific HTP prompt but I mean. I'm pretty sure it's trashy enough to fit here.)

When Bucky came back to his motel room, Steve was inside. He’d pulled up a chair by the door. He was asleep.

Bucky felt his mouth curving into a smile. He set his supplies down on the floor and watched Steve sleep. He looked very tired. His forehead was creased in a frown.

Unbidden, a memory of another Steve sleeping rose up. This Steve was smaller, but he had the same frown. Several strands of hair lay across his forehead. Bucky had wanted to brush them out of Steve’s eyes. His right hand itched with the memory of it.

He coughed, deliberately. Steve startled out of sleep at once. “Bucky,” he mumbled. And then, softly: “You stayed.”

He hadn’t been sure what to do. At the gladness in Steve’s voice, he knew. “You shouldn’t have come,” he said.

Steve ignored him. “You know me,” he said. His voice was fragile with hope.

He did. That was the problem. He should have gone. He never should have let Steve catch up.

“Listen,” he said. He sat on the bed. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. “I was supposed to die. It would have been better if I had.”

“Bucky, no,” Steve said. “That’s not true.”

Bucky laughed. It was not a nice sound. “A lot of people are dead because of me,” he said. “During the war, I didn’t think twice about it. I was doing it for you.”

Steve made a noise, like he wanted to protest. Bucky went on before he could say anything.

“They broke me,” he said. “They broke me and put me back together, and I don’t know if they did it right.”

Steve slid out of the chair and came closer, on his knees. He took hold of Bucky’s hands, very carefully. “Let me help,” he said. “Please.”

He should have said no, but he was tired of running. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, Steve.”

Steve smiled. It was a good smile, and Bucky thought that maybe that meant he was doing the right thing.

 

* * *

  

Steve had an apartment in New York. There was one bedroom with a bed.

"You should take it,” Steve said. He was leaning on the doorframe.

Bucky looked around. There was a book lying on the bedside table. _An Inconvenient Truth_ , it said. He picked it up because he didn’t have anything to do with his hands.

“It’s your bed, pal,” he said. “Gimme the sofa.”

"You sure?” Steve said. “I can sleep on the sofa just fine.”

“Steve,” Bucky said. He put the book down and went to put an arm around Steve’s shoulder. “I already shot you. I’m not gonna kick you out of your bed, too.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Steve said. “Stop blaming yourself.”

“Doesn’t matter whose fault it is,” Bucky argued back. “Still got a bullet in your gut, didn’t you?”

Steve’s face went mulish. Bucky knew that look.

“Look,” he said before Steve could go on. "You give me the bed, I’ll end up sleeping on the floor. What’s it gonna be, Rogers?”

Steve’s shoulders slumped. "You sure?”

"Yeah,” Bucky said. “Now tell me you have food in this place, I’m starving.”

 

* * *

  

The sofa smelled of Steve, too, but only faintly. It was better than the bed.

 

* * *

  

Steve jogged in the mornings. "You don’t have to come with me,” he said, but he looked hopeful as he crouched on the floor tying his shoes.

“Are you kidding,” Bucky said, dragging himself off the sofa. “I owe you at least fifty years of commentary on your form, of course I’m coming.”

Bucky was too sleepy for half the jog to offer anything. The second half, he woke up being chased by a duck through Central Park.

Steve laughed and laughed. Then he bought a pretzel and tore it to pieces feeding the duck.

“I think you like that duck better than me,” Bucky accused. He flopped onto a bench and started kicking at its legs.

The duck ate the last of the pretzel. Steve dusted off his hands and stood up, grinning wide.

“Ducks are temporary, Buck,” he said. "You’re the one I live with.”

Steve had a hand on his neck and his eyes were downturned but his smile was still too bright. Bucky looked away before it could hurt too much.

 

* * *

  

It turned out, he hadn’t forgotten how to be in love with his best friend.

 

* * *

  

A month in, they came in for breakfast and found Fury seated in the armchair with his legs crossed.

“Good vacation?” he said. “It’s time to get back to work.”

"You’re supposed to be dead,” Steve said. “SHIELD’s gone, Nick. I don’t owe you anything.”

“No,” Fury said. “But you have a sense of duty, Rogers. I know it, you know it. So let’s get to business.”

“Tell us why you’re here,” Bucky said before Steve could argue, because Fury had a point but his packaging could use more work. “And maybe — if we want to — we’ll help.”

“Fine,” Fury said, and put both of his feet on the floor. "You know that HYDRA’s still out there.”

"Yeah,” Steve said, because they weren’t stupid. “They’re disorganized. Looking for a leader. Stark’s keeping track of them.”

“Well, they found one,” Fury said. “Our old friend Rumlow decided to fill the power vacuum.”

At Rumlow’s name, Steve twitched. He’d taken the betrayal personally.

The Winter Soldier had worked with Rumlow, several times. Bucky didn’t remember him at all.

“My sources tell me they’re trying for one last push,” Fury said. “They’re gathering at a base in Pennsylvania. I need a distraction while Stark’s team sets a trap.”

"You want me to be the distraction,” Steve said, flat.

“Not quite,” Fury said, and leaned back. "You see, they think that the Winter Soldier is dead.”

There was a moment of silence. Bucky realized what Steve was going to do and caught his wrist half a second before Steve grabbed Fury by the throat.

“Captain Rogers,” Fury said. He was perfectly calm. “Now is not the time.”

“No, it’s exactly the time,” Steve said. He was shaking. "You use people. You used me. I let you. but you’re not using Bucky. This is the end.”

“Steve,” Bucky said, and Steve went still. “It’s a good plan.”

“I won’t let them take you again,” Steve said, very low. “I’d die first.”

“There’s a third option,” Fury said. "You might need a little preparation.”

 

* * *

  

“It’s fine,” Steve said. “Hit me.” He spread his arms wide. His vitals were all exposed. There was a knife in Bucky’s boot. He could have killed Steve in three different ways.

“Steve.” Bucky’s voice wavered. “I don’t like this.”

"You’re not going without me,” Steve said. “And I certainly can’t go in there unharmed with a smile on my face. So: hit me.”

Bucky threw a punch. He knew he was pulling it before it even landed. His fist glanced off Steve’s cheek.

“Not even a bruise.” Steve shook his head. “C’mon, Buck. You can do better.”

Bucky closed his eyes. When he’d been the Winter Soldier, he’d been deadly. He didn’t have weapons — he _was_ a weapon. To fool HYDRA, he needed to think like that again.

Nothing mattered. He didn’t matter. Steve didn’t matter. They were all the same, in the end: disposable.

He breathed. Opened his eyes.

His next punch split Steve’s lip.

 

* * *

  

Steve healed fast. It took two hours to get to the HYDRA base.

But Bucky had done a good job. Steve’s smile was still bloody when Bucky pressed his palm to the scanner and dragged him through the door.

He walked into a wall of noise, and the noise stopped.

“Shit, I thought he was dead,” someone said.

Rumlow was sitting at the center of the crowd. He froze, briefly. His hand slid toward his gun. Bucky tensed.

Rumlow snapped out, “Mission report.”

Bucky threw Steve onto the floor. Steve let out a pained noise. “Target acquired,” he said.

Rumlow frowned. "Your mission was to kill him.” He got out of his chair and nudged Steve’s hand with a boot. The fingers were cracked and bruised. Bucky could see Steve setting his jaw, biting down on another sound.

Bucky had his head down. “I experienced some difficulty in completing the mission.”

Rumlow hummed. Bucky kept his hand by his pistol. It was possible that Rumlow would order him to shoot Steve now. He might even want to do it himself. Then the mission would become a lot more complicated.

Steve had said, “Rumlow won’t,” with confidence. Bucky held onto the memory of that face, before he had bloodied it.

“No, this is good,” Rumlow said at last. Bucky didn’t relax, but he felt something inside of him ease. “We can have some fun.”

“Thought you said this wasn’t personal,” Steve spat out.

“I did.” Rumlow crouched, so he was face-to-face with Steve. “But you know what? _Now_ it’s personal.” He grinned. It reminded Bucky, faintly, of a shark.

There was something cold tangled up in Bucky’s stomach when Rumlow stood up. “Take him,” Rumlow said. “This is gonna be a party.”

 

* * *

  

They strapped Steve down to the chair.

Someone tossed Bucky a knife. “Cut his clothes off him.”

Steve had his eyes closed. His breathing was shallow. It didn’t hitch as Bucky ran the knife down Steve’s chest.

His shirt peeled off easily. The pants were harder. Bucky put one hand on Steve’s thigh and ran the blade down the length of his leg. Switched sides and repeated the maneuver.

Steve’s boxers came away with his pants, and now he was naked. Steve’s eyes were still closed, but his breathing had quickened.

“Is he hard?” Rollins asked. “Oh, christ, that’s beautiful.”

“Got it bad for your friend here, have you?” Rumlow asked. He grinned. It was not a pleasant look. “Don’t worry, Cap. We can take care of that.”

“Rape, is it?” Steve said. Bucky was perhaps the only one who heard the tremor in his voice. “Can’t think of anything better —”

“Christ, shut him up, will you?” Rumlow picked up Steve’s boxers off the floor and pressed it into Bucky’s hand. “I hate when he’s being self-righteous.”

Steve had a mutinous look on his face. “I’ll bite,” he said, watching Bucky’s hand warily.

Bucky put a hand on Steve’s jaw. It was his left hand. Steve stopped trying to bite him, and instead clenched his jaws shut.

It didn’t matter. Bucky pried his mouth open with two metal fingers and shoved the wad of fabric into his mouth.

Steve made a noise that was shaped like “Bucky”.

“Still calling him that,” Rumlow laughed. “He’s not your friend anymore, Cap. Hasn’t been in a long time.” He ran his eyes over Bucky. “He’s _better_.”

Rumlow came over to pat Bucky on the shoulder. Bucky fought down a shudder and waited.

“Why don’t we let that be the first lesson,” Rumlow said. “Give him a star. Improve him a little.”

The knife was in Bucky’s hand. It was steady. He pressed at the juncture of Steve’s shoulder and neck with his left hand and made a straight cut with his right.

Steve jerked when the knife touched his skin, but he stilled when Bucky squeezed with his left hand. He was biting down hard on the fabric now — small whimpers came from between his teeth.

Bucky tried not to think about what he was doing. Five straight cuts, that should have been enough. The blood welled from the cuts and dripped down Steve’s arm. It was messy. Inelegant.

But Steve healed quickly.

Bucky held his breath. He gripped tighter with his left hand and slid his knife sideways under the skin.

Steve was shaking with pain. There was sweat on his forehead, but he hadn’t screamed.

Bucky nearly bit through his tongue as he carved out the star. He left bruises the shape of fingermarks on Steve’s neck.

Rumlow was pleased at the shape of it. He ran a finger across the edge of a point and laughed when Steve couldn’t hold back a pained groan. “Alright,” he said with a mean little smile. “Why don’t you blow him now.”

Steve made a furious noise at the suggestion. He threw his weight against the restraints at his arms, but they held.

Bucky looked at Steve. Then he looked back.

Rumlow was still grinning. “His dick,” he said slowly. “Take it into your mouth and suck it.”

That was a direct order. Bucky got to his knees between Steve’s spread legs.

Steve was, despite everything, still half-hard. His cock twitched when Bucky leaned forward and took it into his mouth.

He’d wanted to do this before. He remembered wanting to. He remembered —

But no. He was supposed to be the Winter Soldier. He _was_ the Winter Soldier.

The Winter Soldier did not want.

He sucked at the head of Steve’s cock, and then, at Rumlow’s gesture, took him further into his mouth. Steve made a helpless sound. His hips jerked up, once.

His left hand was braced against Steve’s hip. Steve brought his own hand down to press at the soldier’s hand. Rumlow laughed at that, and let him.

Steve’s cock was bumping into the back of the soldier’s throat now. He paused, took a breath through his nose, and swallowed. His forehead was pressed against the soft skin of Steve’s belly.

Steve shuddered as he came, going loose all over. His cock pulsed in the soldier’s mouth. The soldier swallowed, again, and pulled off gently. He wiped his mouth with the back of a hand and waited.

"You still awake, Cap?” someone called.

Steve was slack against the restraints, his chest hitching. Rumlow walked over to him and patted Steve on the head, like a dog. "Yeah, I get it,” he said. “Having your cock sucked isn’t much of a challenge, is it, big guy?”

“We’re gonna fix that,” Rumlow continued, and pressed something into the soldier’s grasp.

“Fist him,” he said. “Make him feel good.”

He’d given the soldier a bottle of oil. He unscrewed the top and spilled the oil into his hand.

“Soldier.” Rumlow was smiling. "Your other hand.”

Steve was beginning to struggle against his bonds. The soldier rubbed his hands together until the metal of his left hand was slick with oil. He pressed his right hand to the inside of Steve’s thigh, stroking the skin there with the pad of his thumb.

He didn’t know why he did it, but at the motion, Steve went very still.

The first two fingers went in easily, all the way to the knuckle. He fucked Steve with them, rhythmically, giving him time to adjust. When he crooked his fingers, Steve made a high, keening noise. His head fell back in the chair.

“Add another,” said Rumlow.

The metal of his fingers had no give to them. He pulled his hand back, spilled more oil in his palm. His left hand was still, but his right hand was shaking.

He pressed three of his fingers to a point and pressed them into Steve, slow. Steve’s breaths were coming short and quick. He was bearing down on the soldier’s fingers, he realized. Trying to take him.

It made the soldier’s own cock twitch in his pants. He ignored it.

Four fingers now. Steve had flinched at the cool press of his little finger, but he was opening up, taking nearly the whole of his palm.

Oil was dripping down the soldier’s forearm, down his elbow and onto his thigh. He shifted on his feet and looked up. Steve’s cock was beginning to fill again, twitching.

“Jerk him,” Rumlow said distractedly. “But don’t let him come yet.”

The soldier’s right hand was sticky with oil. It slipped easily down Steve’s cock. Steve’s hips jerked again, into the soldier’s grasp.

The soldier tucked his thumb against his palm and started to press in. Steve shuddered, full-body, as he tried to relax. He would have been panting if not for the gag. There was saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth.

The soldier stroked down Steve’s cock and pressed his thumb to the skin behind Steve’s balls. Steve’s cock was leaking. Impulsively, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the head.

Steve was whining low in his throat when the soldier’s hand slipped into him, all the way to the wrist.

“Jesus, will you look at that,” Rumlow breathed. “Guess he doesn’t have a stick up that ass after all.”

When the soldier looked up, Steve was looking at him with half-lidded eyes. He made a muffled sound. It might have been “please”.

Carefully, he curled his fingers into a fist. Steve’s back arched. There were tears at the corners of his eyes.

“Okay,” Rumlow said, raspy. “Make him come.”

The soldier’s cock was pressing into his thigh. He shifted again, trying to relieve the pressure. He slowly rotated his wrist, imagined it rubbing against Steve’s insides.

The soldier rocked back on his heels. His hand emerged from Steve with a slick sound.

With a long, muffled wail, Steve came, spilling onto the soldier’s hand.

The soldier looked at Steve’s face, the curve of his mouth, and thought —

He thought —

He wiped his hand on his thigh. The motion made his pants rub against his cock. He drew his breath in with a hiss.

“I think you deserves a little reward here, don’t you?” Rumlow pulled the soldier to his feet and patted his shoulder. “Go on. Have his mouth.”

He sounded like he was being _generous_.

“Bucky,” Steve gasped the moment the soldier took the sodden rag from his mouth. “This isn’t you.”

The soldier said nothing. He was not required to respond. He undid his pants and his cock sprang out, stiff and leaking.

Several men whistled.

He cupped Steve’s head with a hand and pulled forward. Steve didn’t look away from the soldier’s eyes as he took the cock into his mouth.

Steve’s mouth was very wet, and very hot. He kept his teeth covered. He swiped his tongue against the underside of the soldier’s cock, and didn’t gag when the soldier’s hips jerked and pressed in deeper.

The soldier wanted —

He wanted —

His hand was tangled in the short hairs at the back of Steve’s head. He stroked his fingers through the hair. His other hand was on the arm rest. Steve was clutching a metal finger, gripping it so tight his knuckles were white.

“God, who would’ve thought he’d be such a good cocksucker?” The question drifted over him.

And: "You can do better than that, Cap. Isn’t he your best friend?”

And an order: “Don’t come in his mouth. I want to see it on his face.”

The soldier felt Steve swallow around his cock. His knees felt weak — his balls were drawing up toward his body.

He jerked back. Steve gave him one last lick and let him slip out of his mouth. His lips were dark, swollen.

He reached down for himself. In two strokes, he was coming over Steve’s face. Come dripped over his eyelashes and across his cheekbone.

The soldier wiped a streak of white from Steve’s face and pressed the finger to Steve’s lips. Steve sucked it into his mouth, looking up at him. His eyes were very blue.

Then there was the loud crash of glass, and everyone started shouting.

 

* * *

  

Steve had undone his bonds. He dove from the chair and grabbed Rollins’s gun. There was a shot that made the STRIKE team scatter.

Steve had knocked the soldier to the ground. He got to his feet, slowly.

Steve’s eyes were very blue.

The soldier was —

The soldier wanted —

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve said. He was naked and bleeding but he didn’t seem to care about any of that. “Come back, Buck. Please.”

The soldier threw a fist, straight from the hips. It crashed into Steve’s right shoulder, and Steve stumbled. A choked sound fell from his mouth. The soldier went after him, dropping to his knees to grapple at Steve’s shoulders.

Instead of trying to get away, Steve pressed his forehead to his metal shoulder. “I’m not gonna do this again, Buck.” His voice was wet.

There was blood on Steve’s arm —

There was blood on his —

The soldier grabbed blindly at the star on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve screamed.

Steve was on the floor. Steve was panting, his breaths coming choked, and his chest heaved like he couldn’t get enough air. Steve was on the floor and he was on Steve’s chest, his knee planted on his solar plexus and his hand at Steve’s throat.

“Finish it,” Rumlow spat out. “Shoot the motherfucking bastard.”

He slid his gun out of his holster and cocked it. He brushed sweat-sticky hair off Steve’s forehead. He wanted to kiss him.

Then he swept around and shot Rumlow between the eyes.

 

* * *

  

Rumlow was disposable. _He_ was disposable.

But not Steve.

 

* * *

  

After all the shooting was done, Stark flew back up and offered them a ride home.

“Sorry it took so long,” he said, not bothering to flip his visor up. “Took a while to close all the holes.” He looked at Steve. "You alright?”

Steve had stripped a corpse. He shrugged on a black shirt and staggered to his feet. "Yeah,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Steve,” Bucky said. It came out hoarse.

“I’m fine,” Steve said. “Don’t worry about it, Buck.”

Bucky reached for him. The fabric on Steve’s shoulder was already tacky with blood. He’d done that. He’d done —

Bucky put his hand down. Steve’s shoulder twitched, as if he knew what Bucky was thinking.

“Home,” Steve said. “Coming, Buck?”

“Home,” Bucky repeated in a hollow voice. “Okay.”

 

* * *

  

Steve headed straight for the bathroom. Bucky heard the water starting up.

His shirt was stiffening up with blood. A patch of slick was still wet on his knee and come was drying in streaks on the opposite thigh. There was still oil in the plates of his left hand — it would gum up the whole arm, if he didn’t wash it soon.

He sat on the sofa with his hands in his lap. He waited for Steve.

 

* * *

  

The light outside had dimmed to a dull gray by the time the water stopped. He heard the shower curtain draw back. He imagined Steve stepping onto the bath mat, towelling himself off.

Then there was a long pause when he heard nothing.

“Bucky?” Steve said finally. “I.”

“Steve.” He nearly leaped off the sofa. The bathroom door was still closed.

“My clothes,” Steve said. “I don’t have them in here with me.”

“Do you want me to.” Bucky swallowed. “Want me to get them for you.”

That was good. That gave Bucky something to do.

“Please,” Steve said. He sounded very small.

Bucky went into Steve’s room. He picked out a dark shirt with short sleeves. A pair of sweatpants. He hesitated before opening Steve’s underwear drawer and grabbing a pair of cotton boxers.

“I’m leaving them outside the door,” he said, putting the clothes on the floor in a neat little pile. Then he went into the kitchen. Opened the refridgerator door. He made a lot of noise.

In the middle of it all, he heard the bathroom door open, and close. He put the orange juice back on the shelf and leaned against the counter.

He thought he might cry. That didn’t make any sense. He didn’t have anything to cry about.

He gulped at his juice. Eventually the knot in his chest went away.

 

* * *

  

When Bucky went into the living room, Steve was sitting crosslegged on the floor. He had his first aid kit out, and his sleeve was rolled up.

“Steve,” Bucky said. It sounded pleading.

“I think I used up all the hot water,” Steve said. He was laying gauze over the star on his shoulder. He didn’t look up. “Sorry.”

“I don’t care about the hot water,” Bucky said faintly. “Steve, please.”

“It’s fine, Buck.” Steve finally looked at him. He smiled. It wasn’t a good smile.

Bucky looked down. Steve ripped off a piece of tape with his teeth, and then twisted, trying to line up the gauze correctly. “Can I,” Bucky said, and then stopped. “Do you want me to help?”

“Okay,” Steve said. He gave Bucky the tape and sat with his eyes closed. When Bucky brushed his arm with his fingertips, a shudder went through him.

“Sorry,” Bucky said.

“It’s fine,” Steve said again. He held himself very still after that, while Bucky smoothed the tape onto his skin.

“Okay,” Bucky said when it was over. Steve tensed, and then leaned back against the sofa. His hands were curled into fists. “Steve —”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Steve snapped. It seemed to startle him as much as it did Bucky. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’m tired,” he said like an apology. “Let’s just get to bed.”

“Okay,” Bucky said again. It seemed like the only thing he could say.

Only, nothing was okay, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

 

* * *

  

In the morning Steve woke Bucky, like he always did. “Running?” he said.

Bucky raised his head and looked at Steve. He was smiling, but his face was all wrong.

“Maybe another time,” he said. “Go without me.”

Steve looked sideways. “Alright,” he said softly. “Go back to sleep, Buck.”

Steve left. Bucky rolled over and stared at the ceiling for a long time.

 

* * *

  

Here was the truth: Bucky was in love with Steve, and that was all wrong.

 

* * *

  

He didn’t pack all at once. He went back to jogging with Steve, even though they didn’t talk on the way home anymore. He made pancakes for Steve and watched him wipe the milk from his upper lip.

He didn’t have much to pack, anyway. A set of clothes. The weapons he’d come to Steve’s with. He didn’t have a place in Steve’s life, really. All he had was himself.

 

* * *

  

Steve didn’t run on Sundays. Bucky woke up early, before the sun rose. All he heard was the low hum of the refridgerator. He eased himself off the sofa and unearthed his bag from the shoe closet.

But he couldn’t go without saying goodbye.

Steve slept with the door closed. Bucky pressed a hand against it, felt the grain of the wood underneath his fingertips.

“I. Um.” His voice was shaking. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“Steve. You’ve been great. You _are_ great.

“But I can’t stay here, Steve. It’s all wrong for me. Think it’s been that way for a long time. Maybe I came out of the freezer broken. Maybe I’ve been broken long before that.

“I thought you could help put me back together, but maybe that ain’t for you to do. It’s bigger than that, and I can’t put it all on you.

“So I’m goin’. You stay safe, Steve. Stay out of trouble, you hear?

“And maybe, when I’m good and fixed again, I’ll come back.”

Bucky wiped his nose with his sleeve. He sniffed, once, and shouldered his bag.

And Steve opened the door.

“Bucky,” he said.

Bucky froze. “You weren’t meant to hear that,” he said.

“I heard it,” Steve said steadily. “And you’re more an idiot than I thought if you’re gonna leave now.”

“I have to.” Bucky felt drained. “I’m no good for you, Steve. I make you hurt.”

“You!” Steve said, astonished. His hand came up to touch Bucky’s face. "You’ve never hurt me,” Steve said. "You’re the best and bravest person I know.”

“How can you say that when I —” He couldn’t say it. He ran his tongue over his lips. “I touched you,” he said at last. “Steve, I — I can’t.”

Steve didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he tipped his chin up and said, fiercely, “What if I wanted you to?”

“You wanted —”

“You,” Steve said. “I’ve always wanted you.”

Bucky felt like he was untethered, floating. “And do you — still —”

“ _Yes_ , you jerk,” Steve said impatiently. And then he grabbed Bucky by the shoulders and kissed him.

Steve’s lips were soft and damp, and Steve’s tongue was licking at his mouth. Bucky’s lips parted in surprise, and Steve laughed a little as he pressed into his mouth.

The bag slipped off Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky didn’t care. He touched Steve’s mouth, the curve of his cheek, the point of his chin. He wanted to touch everything.

“Everything, Buck?” Steve was grinning. “It might take a while.”

Bucky pushed Steve into his bedroom. The blankets were rumpled on the bed. “God, the things I want to you —” Bucky groaned. “Steve.”

“I’m here,” Steve said under Bucky’s hands. He brought his arms up so Bucky could tug his shirt up. “Anything, Buck.”

“You gotta tell me,” Bucky said. He kicked off his pants and watched Steve wiggle out of his. “I won’t do it ‘til you say it.”

Steve went pink all the way down his chest. “I want —” he started. He brought up a forearm to hide his eyes. “I want you to open me up,” he mumbled into the crook of his elbow.

“With my hand?” Bucky prompted, pressing a kiss onto Steve’s chest. “With my mouth?” Another kiss, just above his navel.

“With — with your mouth.” Steve went even pinker. “Please.”

Bucky slid down the length of Steve’s body. He spread Steve open with with his hands and licked into him. Steve made an unintelligible sound; his heels came down to rest on Bucky’s shoulderblades.

“That’s it,” Bucky murmured between soft licks. “Open up for me just like that. You can do it. I know you can.

“And what am I gonna do with you when you’re nice and open for me, Steve?”  


“God, Bucky.” The words burst out of Steve’s mouth. His mouth was very round, and wet. “Fuck me. With your cock.” His eyes were half-closed as he said it. He was too far gone to be embarrassed.

“Anything you like.” Steve was slick and open now. Bucky rose up on his elbows and slicked his cock with spit, pressed into Steve very slow.

Steve was hot and incredibly tight. Bucky closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Steve’s chest. “So good,” he murmured. “Jesus, Steve.”

Steve was reaching for Bucky’s hands. He tangled their fingers together, raised them over his head. Bucky couldn’t help it then — there was a well of affection overflowing in his chest. He kissed Steve, kissed him, kissed him.

They stayed like that a long time, Bucky lazily thrusting into Steve. The sun was up, sending light slanting over Steve’s face.

“God, I love you.”

He didn’t mean to say it, but it came out right. He wouldn’t want to take it back. He didn’t want to take it back.

Steve smiled. It was a good smile, a beautiful smile, and Bucky thought that maybe, he’d gotten one thing right, at least.


End file.
